


Half speed projectile

by TheIceQueen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Derek Hale, BAMF Stiles, Explosions, Field Surgery, Gen, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Injury, Major Character Injury, Pain, Protective Derek, Scared Stiles Stilinski, Surgery, Unconsciousness, Werewolf Derek, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-31 05:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIceQueen/pseuds/TheIceQueen
Summary: Stiles is shot with one of the Argent's arrows and Derek it the one ending up saving him from the fight and making sure the arrow doesn't hurt him further.





	Half speed projectile

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
Whumptober 2019 #no.2 – Explosion

”I don’t like being carried.” Stiles tried to force the sound of his fear and pain down, while still clinging on to Derek’s neck as Derek carried him bridal style down the stairs to the basement.

“Well, I don’t care much for carrying you either, but Scott will try to kill me for the rest of his life if I let you die.”

“Die?!” Stiles’s heart skipped more than one beat and he found himself dizzy and holding on so tight he was shaking. “I’m dying…?!”

Derek crossed the dark room and kneeled down next to a metal framed bed. “Let go. But don’t move.”

Confused and lightheaded Stiles tried to follow both demands but somehow it seemed as there was at least six feet from Daryl’s arms to the mattress. Tightening every muscle in his body, sent electricity of pain from the pain in his lower leg throughout his body and he yelped and held on to Derek again.

“Hey! I said don’t move!” Derek’s fingers bored deeper into Stiles’s skin and his eyes locked on the hurt leg. “Didn’t you hear me the first fifty times?”

“I’m in pain here.” Stiles tried to sound offended. “Except, I’m sure it was only like thirty-eight times.”

Derek shot him a stern look that shot down all of Stiles’s planned tries to lighten the mood.

“Just hold on.” Derek leaned in and rested Stiles’s back on the mattress and only when he pulled his arm out from under him, did Stiles find the opportunity to let go safely. Derek still had both legs in a firm hold in his other arm though.

“Derek…?”

“Shh!” Derek moved a little as he held Stiles’s legs steady. “Let me do it.”

Stiles’s lower leg was pounding and it seemed as if it got worse every time anything in its proximity moved, so the slow and cautious movements was a help, but it didn’t settle his stomach or relax his mind. Derek wouldn’t treat any injury like this. Stiles didn’t have to be a werewolf to see the fast pulse on Derek’s neck.

Slowly, Derek let go of the good leg and then he used both hands to carefully lie the hurt one on the mattress. As soon as it was down Derek let go and took a few steps back on his knees.

“Derek…?” Stiles didn’t like the way Derek was looking at his leg; as if he was deciding what to do, or whether to do anything at all. “Derek. Why am I not in a hospital?”

Stiles lifted his head to look at his leg, but Derek pushed him down and basically shouted with his gaze that he didn’t want to tell him not to move again.

“Okay. I won’t move, but what…?”

“It’s still in there.” Derek spoke fast and barely directed at Stiles as he ran around the room gathering things.

Stiles didn’t understand what was in there. Was it in him Derek was talking about and what exactly was it? He tried following everyone of Derek’s moves, but the way he’d looked at him before still had Stiles lying flat on his back.

Derek pushed over two old wooden dining room chairs and sat down on one as he placed everything on the other. Stiles’s heart beat harder as he realized that he wasn’t able to see what Derek had brought, as Derek was blocking the view of the other chair. The look of sudden determination on Derek’s face didn’t help, and he could hear his fast pule rush by his inner ear.

Carefully, too carefully, Derek wrapped something around Stiles’s ankle.

“Derek? What…?” Stiles used every cell in his body to counteract his urge to lift his head and look down.

As Derek wrapped it around the other too, Stiles was convinced that Derek had found a rope and was now tying him to the bed.

“Derek! What the hell?!” Stiles popped up on two elbows and saw Derek fastening the end of the rope to the bed.

“Lie down!” Derek pushed Stiles down again a little too slow for the way Derek was normally acting. “It’s in your leg, now stay still!”

“What…” Stiles took a deep breath, not knowing if he should be scared or angry. “What is in me?”

“The arrow.”

He could barely see Derek’s head and shoulders as he leaned down with a new rope, but shards of glass seemed to move up inside his entire leg as Derek pushed it under his knee.

“D-Derek.” Stiles grabbed the metal frame around the mattress. “Sto… stop!”

The rushed look of empathy in the eyes of the determined man, surprised Stiles, but within seconds his knees were tightly tied to the bed as well.

“Wait… Derek, please… just wait.” Stiles’s voice trembled between breaths he desperately tried to control.

Derek sat down one the chair and grabbed a third rope, but this time he paused and looked at Stiles. It was still possible to see the compassion hiding in his eyes, and it only made the thoughts of what might happen, that much worse.

“Stiles, you have to…”

“Lie still! I know.” Stiles interrupted and left himself winded. “Tell… just tell me what’s… what are you…?”

Derek nodded. “I’m tying your hip too. I’ve tied both legs, because you could move a lot more if you had one loose and it’s…” He looked down Stiles’s legs and frowned.

Stiles started to feel his lower leg throbbing. Maybe his adrenaline was wearing off, even though he would think that this conversation would leave him with more than enough adrenaline to fight of any pain.

He grabbed Derek’s lower arm and made him look at him. “What is it? What’s in me?”

“Don’t you remember…? The hunters, the arrows?”

Stiles tried to think back. It was all still a blur, he remembered flashes of light and sounds of explosions, but no arrows.

“You were hit with one of the arrows.” Derek shook his head as if he was somewhere between amazed and confused. “It must have grazed a three or something to go slow it enough that it didn’t explode in your leg on impact.”

After a few seconds studying Derek’s face, it dawned on Stiles that what was in him, was the unexploded arrowhead. He didn’t get any time to ask where the rest of the arrow went, before Derek pushed a hand under his waist to tie his hip too. He wasn't sure it was real, when he remembered trying to fight Derek off, and how shocked and scared Derek had looked as when they heard the snap. It didn’t matter anyway. The arrow wasn’t important, the bomb was. He had a bomb in his leg. How big of an explosion would that make? The sounds he remembered from the shooting was too big for any limb to handle. Stiles’s eyes didn’t focus on anything, but that wasn’t important either, just as his rapid breathing. This could very well take his leg off. This could actually kill him.

“Hey!” Derek’s stern and loud voice was directly over his face. “Hey. Stiles!”

Stiles felt a hand on each cheek and slowly he managed to focus on the man looking down at him.

“Don’t freak out on me, okay?”

Derek had never held eye-contact with him before, unless it was some kind of threat or warning. Stiles nodded silently, still breathing too fast.

“Good… I have to take it out.”

Stiles started to shake his head but Derek hastily moved one of the hands to a firm hold on Stiles’s chin. “Don’t fight me or the ropes, or we’ll both blow up.”

With no control over either lungs or the tears now rolling from his eyes, he changed his shake in for a slight and insecure nod.

Derek let him go and disappeared out of his field of vision. The first touch, only to his pant-leg, had him gasp and let out a small sob. Derek worked steady but fast in cutting the fabric and soon Stiles felt his skin cool down around the burning pain where the arrow had hit.

“This will hurt as hell, but don’t…” Derek paused, maybe because he knew he’d already told Stiles countless times.

“I…” Stiles, spoke between gasps and sobs. “I know.”

Stiles had always thought that when people bit down on something in movies, it was so they wouldn’t scream, but he learned there was another reason when a white glowing pain consumed his leg, and his jaw jammed his teeth hard together. His lungs locked up only to heave in air suddenly and leave him coughing and gagging. He grabbed on to the bedframe again and did his best to hold still, but there was no break, no coming up for air and eventually there was nothing to do but trust the ropes. As soon as he gave up lying perfectly still, Stiles could use brain capacity to form real words between his cries.

“No… Der-Derek…” He tried pushing himself up on his elbows but a new wave of pain tore through him and he landed back with a massive wail.

“S-stop!”

“Almost there.” Derek spoke loudly to break through Stiles’s screams.

Then he paused every movement and, in fear that something was happening, Stiles silenced everything but his gasping.

“I’ve got it. Take a breath and don’t freak out and blow me up while I take it out.”

This was it. He needed to lie still or they were both blowing up. Maybe just his leg and Derek’s hands but here and not in a hospital, that would kill them either way, only slower and more painful.

“Stiles?”

Stiles closed his eyes and did his best to try and forget the way his leg was still shaking from pain, without his say. He nodded and Derek’s one hand was on top of his shin. It felt like a burning hot knife was twisting in his leg and he wrapped both arms over his face to not shake his head violently from side to side. He had to lie still.

Derek stood up before Stiles felt the pain subside. With his heaving for air and his fast pulse pumping passed his ears, Stiles still heard the metal carefully placed on the chair and Derek moving the chair back.

“I’m not sure that was all of it.”

“No…” Stiles sobbed from behind his arms. “No, more… Derek, there’s nothing there. I can feel it.”

He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel the arrowhead before either.

“It could be that one of the corners got damaged on whatever it grazed before it hit you.” Derek sounded insecure but not nervous and Stiles’s heartbeat slowed with the thought that there would be no blown off leg in his immediate future.

He slowly unwrapped his arms from his face and his gasps turned to smaller hiccups for air. “Just wrap it up and get me somewhere with drugs…” He knew he sounded pitiful but he didn’t care. “I’m sure there’s nothing in there.”

Derek reached up and held a bloody hand firmly in Stiles’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. “I have the explosive out, but I need to make sure there’s no metal. I’m sorry.”

Stiles shook his head, unable to force words over the crying on his voice. He could only gasp as Derek put a heavy hand on his shin again.

* * *

The painfully-white light was horribly familiar and the sound coming after forced pictures of the shooting in front of Stiles’s eyes. A scream and a deep pained growl filled the room.

“No, no nono…” Stiles heaved in air and continued the string of words in his head.

There was pain, but not as much as he’d feared, not as much as when Derek was digging into him. He kept his eyes closed, if he was bleeding out or he might end up in shock in a minute, he didn’t want to see. He would most definitely feel everything if he saw.

“Derek…?” The sound was only a shaky whisper. He heaved in lungs full of air. “D-Derek?!”

Somehow Stiles found that he wasn’t getting less clear headed. In fact, slowly his hearing suppressed his heaving for air and loud heartbeat and focused on Derek’s heavy breathing. He was alive. Stiles had to look; Derek wasn’t conscious. He took a deep determined breath and opened his eyes. He couldn’t see Derek on the floor next to him, but his field of vision was limited. He pushed up on his elbows and tried to sit up. Something was wrong, something more than the ropes. He couldn’t move his legs, not only that they were tied, but no part of them would move. He reached down and grabbed something sticky and warm and, surprised and scared that it didn’t hurt, he pulled himself up.

The deep growl he heard when he pulled the last of the way, made more sense as he saw Derek lying over his legs. Derek’s upper body covered Stiles’s thighs and knees, and head and arms were limp on the mattress on the other side from where was sitting before. His back was slowly soaking his torn up shirt in blood. Panicky, Stiles let go on his arm and took in the sight of the room. The chair Derek had pushed behind him was gone. Only splinters were left on the floor. There wasn’t as much blood as expected, but as far as he could tell his legs were still intact. Only Derek’s back was hurt, but it was all of his back and even with the shirt still on and the sparse light in the room, Stiles could see that it would take a long time to heal even with werewolf healing.

“Derek?” Stiles tried while carefully pushing his shoulder. Derek’s hand on the mattress moved a little, at least Stiles thought so.

“Hey, wake up!” He pushed a little harder and Derek growled in a mix of pain and annoyance.

At about the same time as Stiles realized that Derek wasn’t waking up he saw a small piece of wood sticking out of the skin on Derek’s back. He looked closer and saw several more. His stomach dropped. One thing was a hurt werewolf, a knocked out one was worse, but a werewolf with shrapnel embedded in his skin was bad, really bad. He would heal around it in a couple of hours.

Stiles’s pulse and breathing sped up and he desperately shook Derek, only receiving pained whines that he never thought he would hear cross Derek’s lips. Not seeing any other option he pushed Derek lower on his legs and screamed in unison with the heavy man as he was pushed over Stiles’s open wound. With shaky and bloody hands he untied the ropes on his hip and knees. With that loose he could reach over Derek to his ankles. He swore and tears sprung from his eyes as his own movements made his leg feel like it was being torn off. Derek growled loudly and every muscle in his arms and legs must have been trembling, but as soon as Stiles’s leg was pulled out from under him, he fell limp and silent to the mattress.

Hazy from pain and exhaustion, Stiles had to use a few minutes to control his breathing to not pass out. When he placed his feet on the floor, his hands were still shaking violently and he doubted that he could even pick up what he found that could might help him.

The bandage Derek had brought for Stiles’s leg, was lying at the foot end of the bed, and from what he could see it was way too small, so waking for that was futile. Biding his own wound wasn’t worth the certainly painful walk either. He scouted the floor but didn’t see anything in the mess. The bed was just as messy, wooden pieces scattered over the mattress. He was surprised that he hadn’t been hit, but Derek must have taken the brunt of the explosion. On the far side of the wide mattress was a piece of metal, that was already covered in blood, but nothing else in its proximity was stained. Stiles swallowed hard and held in a deep breath as he reached back and took the long pliers. Looking at the bloody tool in his trembling hand he suppressed a gag and hastily and rather angrily wiped his eyes.

Stiles knew he didn’t have anything that could infect Derek, but mixing blood was never a good idea. He shook his head as he realized what he was thinking. How did, digging into a werewolf’s back with a tool covered in his own blood, become a thing he didn’t even consider not doing?

Somehow he suffered through the painful fight to move over the bed and stand on the other side. He gritted his teeth as he put weight on his leg and it took him a few seconds to see the tool still in his hand clearly. He was sure nothing was broken, but gravity didn’t do him any favors.

Derek was breathing heavily against the mattress and beginning to slowly move his arms as if he was going to push himself up but his hands only moved a few inches closer to his shoulders. Stiles put his knees against the bed frame and took the unconscious man’s wrists.

“Derek?” Stiles asked carefully, not to startle him, but got no answer. He pulled one hand a little and Derek hummed and pulled the arm back with a deep pained growl.

With a deep breath Stiles made the decision that he couldn’t wait for Derek to wake up and he pulled his arms and started to drag him towards himself. Derek whined and weakly fought the pull in his arms but couldn’t counteract the move over the mattress. When Derek’s head was almost at the edge of the bed and only his feet hung over the other side, Stiles let go and Derek pulled his arms close and tugged his hands under his shoulders. He panted loudly and Stiles couldn’t help thinking that he looked scared even with his eyes closed.

The shirt was ripped off rather easily. The hard thing was listening to Derek hold his breath every time he would touch him and let the air go in a small sob after. As the reality of the damage done to Derek’s back revealed itself for Stiles he felt his eyes burn again and his stomach clench. There was more wood than he first thought and he had to hurry; scar tissue was already forming around some of the smaller pieces.

Stiles fought every urge to scream and cry in pain was he pressed his open wound onto the matters and sat on his knees next to Derek’s upper body.

“Derek.” Stiles didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. “If you can hear me; I’m sorry.”

He put his free hand on Derek’s lower back were there was far less damage and swore internally as he took the smallest piece he could see with the pliers.

Derek tensed and the moaning growl was louder than Stiles was prepared for. He pulled the piece out fast and watched Derek’s body go limp and his breathing calm a little. Not having planned what to do with the pieces of wood, Stiles threw it on the floor and turned back to the work at hand. Knowing how Derek would react was worse than being surprised by it and he hesitated for a second before he hastily pulled out the next one. Derek heaved in heavily and fast and pulled his arms under his chest, whining as he tried to push himself up only to fall back down.

“Hey? I’m sorry.” Stiles leaned in to see Derek’s face but still only saw closed eyes and a locked jaw. “Derek, can you hear me?”

The loud breathing slowing down fast indicated that Derek was still not aware of what was happening and only reacted to the pain. Stiles moved closer to his head and placed his hand firmly on the back of Derek’s neck instead; holding him in place as much as he could, while pulling out piece after piece.

“Sorry, sorry.” Stiles despised every pitiful and scared cry Derek made as he worked and even more he hated that he didn’t wake up. If he was awake he would at least act angry and swear at Stiles to hurry up and get it done, but now Stiles had to make the decision to work fast on his own.

One of the bigger pieces was in deep and Stiles suppressed a gag before talking hold of it. He wasn’t disgusted or repelled by the mess, but soon he would surely break tears from the already tortured man. He moved his hand to the side of Derek’s head not to cut off air supply as he pressed him deeper into the mattress. Derek let out a sob and his eyes opened shortly and Stiles pulled his hand away, noticing the new layer of blood over the dried on his hand. It wasn’t much but enough to direct Stiles’s attention to the blood on the back of Derek’s head. Trying not to provoke a reaction from the unconscious werewolf while being this close to his arms and head, Stiles combed some hair aside and found a small cut on the back of his head. Nothing to worry about in itself, but the swelling under the skin and the fact that it was on Derek’s head, didn’t sit right with Stiles.

Hastily forcing himself to come to terms with that it was out of his control, he turned back to the last quarter of the back and the big piece he’d decided had to be next. It wasn’t easy to get the small pliers to hold on it right. Derek cried out with the first little movement and Stiles willed himself to focus on the work and not on the trembling man under his hands. The pliers snapped off the wood a second time and Derek turned his head under Stiles’s hold.

“No…” Derek’s voice was airy, but the small sound in it sounded scared to Stiles.

“I’m sorry. I have to do this.” Stiles didn’t think he’d ever sounded so remorseful in his life.

He dropped the pliers; it wasn’t like his hands were more dirty than that thing either way. Pressing the side of Derek’s face down into the mattress a bit harder, Stiles took hold of the wood with his other hand and pulled it out fast.

Derek’s scream ended in a low growling sound that was more than human. He grabbed on to the sheet on both sides of his head and when Stiles pulled another, almost as big piece out, he saw wolf claws piercing the fabric.

The prospect of being in that small room, with a limp leg and a fully changed werewolf in pain, was not something Stiles could imagine ending with his survival.

“Derek…” Stiles leaned in front of Derek’s face and was surprised to see open eyes. Not glowing wolf eyes, but pale green glazed over eyes. “Hey…”

It didn’t seem as Derek recognized him, but he surely directed his eyes at Stiles’s.

“Derek?”

Derek looked as far around as he could lying front down with Stile’s sitting in front of his face. Gradually his fingers dug deeper into the mattress and his throat let out small growls with every breath.

“No, no, no. Don’t…” Stiles moved back a little and gasped as he moved his leg under him.

Derek’s hand was on his forearm before he could move too far away and Stiles froze looking at the claws as they slowly retracted.

“Stiles?” Derek whispered with his head lifted as much as he could, looking at Stiles with a frowned forehead.

“Y-yes.” Insecure of what to do, Stiles let his gut feeling take over and placed a shaky hand on top of Derek’s on his arm. “It’s Stiles. I’m trying to help y…”

Derek’s head dropped and his hand went limp and followed his heavy arm down to the mattress.

“No…” Stiles leaned in and with no regard for his own safety he took Derek’s chin in a firm grip and tried to get him to look up, but he was out.

“Hey…! Wake up!”

Derek hummed and Stiles all but exhaled his lungs in relief. Derek wasn’t going into a coma, at least Stiles was more sure about that now than before, and he remembered Stiles’s name. Nodding affirmative to himself, Stiles trusted that Derek would wake up as soon as he’d healed and wasn’t in so much pain. By them Stiles might have gotten his pulse down to almost normal and they could get out of here.

Stiles took the pliers again and moved closer.

“I’m sorry…”

He took a deep breath and grabbed on to the next of maybe fifteen smaller pieces of shrapnel.


End file.
